Moments in Time
by Jennifer Collins
Summary: Some drabbles that center around the chemistry between Clint/Natasha throughout their careers at S.H.E.I.L.D. Set in the movieverse, so be aware of possible spoilers.Rated M for the last chapter.
1. Initiation

Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers.

**Initiation**

"Agent Barton," Natasha said evenly, shifting her backpack onto her shoulder as she peered through the doorway of the hangar.

He looked up from the pamphlet he was reading and regarded her with a polite smile. "Agent Romanoff," he nodded once. "Has director Fury sent you with a mission for me?"

She shook her head coyly. "No, just wanted to welcome you aboard. Properly" she added with a devilish grin.

"Ah," he closed the booklet and tossed it aside. "I see." He gestured for her to come inside. "That's very kind of you." His eyes traveled up and down her body so fast that the average person would have missed it had they been looking, but she knew she had his interest.

She smiled and closed the door behind her, tossing her backpack aside. "May I call you by your first name, Clint?" she asked as she moved closer to where he was standing.

"Please do," he said, with a slightly raised eyebrow.

"Clint," she breathed once she was standing directly in front of him. She peered at him through her thick eyelashes for a moment before reaching up to caress his face.

He took a half step backward, surprised at her blunt intimacy.

"What's the matter?" she cooed, inching closer to him once again.

"Nothing," he answered. "Nothing at all."

"Good," she said, almost with a purr, as she advanced. With one long stride, she closed the gap between them and reached up to encircle her arms around his neck.

He placed both hands on either side of her waist. "Is this how you welcome all the new agents?"

"No." She placed a soft kiss near his ear and it was all he could do to keep steady. She winked. "Only the special ones."

He kept his mouth in a straight line and looked her straight in the eyes, unblinking, as her fingers started to slowly brush the hairs at the back of his neck.

She looked back at him, her gaze intense.

"Was there something you wanted, Natasha?" He asked when he realized that she wasn't going to back down.

"There's always something I want, Clint. And I'm very good at getting what I want."

"I can tell," he said softly.

She smiled slyly as she lowered her hand down the back of his neck, across his collar bone, to his shoulder, his chest, his torso…

Clint grabbed both her hands in his and raised them up where they both could see. "You're an astonishingly beautiful woman, Natasha, and if the situation were only slightly different then I'd have had you up against that wall five minutes ago."

She cocked her head to one side expectantly. "But?"

"If you'll please excuse me, I really should find Director Fury. He told me earlier he'll have another initiation test ready for me sometime this evening."

She pouted. "There's nothing I could do to persuade you differently then?"

He shook his head. "Not this time, Agent Romanoff."

Natasha nodded curtly. "Of course," she said, stepping aside with her hand out.

"I'll be seeing you," He offered politely as he walked to the hangar door.

She waited until he was about to turn the doorknob. "Agent Barton," she called, reaching for her backpack.

He stopped with his hand still on the knob, not turning around.

"This was the test. You passed."

He looked over his shoulder at her with a slight grin. "I know," he replied.

"Your reputation precedes you correctly." She grinned back and tossed the backpack to him. "Fury had this made for you," she said, bemused. "You should try it on for size…Hawkeye."

"Is that what he's calling me now?" He laughed as he unzipped the pack, then wrinkled his nose when he pulled out his new uniform. "Purple is not my color."

"Really?" She regarded him thoughtfully. "I think it suits you just fine."

"Okay." He set the bag down. "But I'm not wearing the mask."

"Why's that?"

"Because I have nothing to hide," he said softly.


	2. Training

**Training**

Clint readjusted his satchel on his back as he walked down the hall to the training center. He rapped on the door with the tip of his bow and when no one answered, he moved inside.

"Good afternoon, Agent Barton," Natasha greeted him from the center of the room.

"Good afternoon. Sorry, Nat. I didn't realize you were still here."

Natasha shrugged. "S'ok. If we're going to be partners, we should be able to share the space , right?"

Clint nodded. "Train together?"

She offered him a half smile. "Sure."

He set his bag on the floor and moved towards her. "Where do you want to start? Some hand to hand?"

She looked towards the bow in his hands. "Why don't you teach me how to shoot that thing?"

"Me? Teach you?" He asked incredulously. "I've seen you in action. You're a great shot."

"With a gun. I've never shot an arrow," she pointed out.

"Alright then." He held out the bow to her. "It's all in the way you grip it."

She raised an eyebrow. "You're going to show me how to grip it properly?"

He swallowed hard. "Yes." He guided her hand, closing her fingers around the bow. "Yup, there you go. That's it." He moved behind her and handed her an arrow.

"It's surprisingly lightweight," she said.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" He grinned. "Now line up your shot, that's right," he coached as she pulled back on the string. "Keep your eye on that target over there," he pointed.

"When should I let go?"

"Whenever you're ready." His voice was soft. "Hold 'er steady." He leaned over her to offer encouraging words.

Natasha pulled the arrow back, her elbow just brushing his chest. She took a deep breath and let go, never taking her eyes off the target.

The arrow launched and landed straight in the middle of the bullseye. She pirhouetted around to face him with a satisfied smile. "Like that?"

He smiled. "Just like that. You sure you've never done this before?"

"Nope," she smirked.

"Oh, I think you have…"

"I've never lied to you before."

"You must be a natural then. You catch on quick."

"There's a lot of things I'm good at," she purred.

"I don't doubt that."

She smiled and held out the bow. "Now let's see you do it."

He kept his eyes locked on her as he reached over to take the bow from her. He reached behind him to take an arrow from the satchel and when he shot the arrow had barely sunk into its mark before he was re-loading. He repeated the process five times, hitting a perfect bullseye with every shot until the last one knocked her arrow off the target.

Natasha clapped her hands twice. "Ten seconds," she said admiringly. "I'm impressed, Agent Barton."

Clint winked. "Glad I could impress you, agent Romanoff."


	3. Popcorn

**Popcorn**

"There it is," Clint pointed across the street to the deserted house. He picked up both their bags, which held minimal things, and gestured for her to follow.

"What a dump," she remarked when they stood in the door.

"What were you expecting?" He asked with a smile.

She laughed. "This. I guess we better make ourselves at home."

Clint stepped aside. "Ladies first."

She moved carefully through the tiny hallway into an open room with a dusty covered couch and removed her jacket. "I wonder if there's anything to eat."

Clint shrugged. "Probably nothing that's good. This place has been abandoned a long time."

She wandered idly across the hall to the kitchen, flipping open her cellular phone. "I'm going to call Agent Coulsson."

Clint flicked on the lights in the small living room. "At least we have electricity this time," he muttered. He found a dirty remote control and pointed it at the clunky television. "Hey, Nat! The TV works!" He called to her.

She appeared in the archway, arms folded across her chest. "Good. I just spoke to Coulsson. Fury says they haven't reached the village yet." She frowned.

Clint sighed. He uncovered the couch and slumped down on it. "Better make ourselves comfortable then. Looks like it's gonna be a long night." He patted the space next to him. "Have a seat."

She held up one finger. "Wait. I want to make popcorn first."

He turned his eyes away from the television and looked at her hopefully. "There's popcorn?"

She grinned. "There's popcorn." Without another word, she disappeared into the kitchen.

He sighed and lifted his feet onto the coffee table. She returned a moment later with a large bowl and two glasses of water. "It's drinkable," she replied in answer to his unspoken question.

He nodded and eagerly accepted her gifts.

"It could be worse," she said. "Who would have thought when we got this assignment that we'd be cuddling on a couch?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Cuddling?"

"You said I should make myself comfortable…." She said with a slight pout.

He grinned and stretched his arm out across that back of the couch. "Well, come here then."

In one swift motion, she plunked down on the seat next to him and leaned back into the crook of his arm. "So what are we watching?"

He shrugged. "I don't know."

"We don't have to watch anything. We could talk."

He turned cautiously to face her. "What is it you want to talk about?"

She thought for a moment. "Where did you learn to be an archer?"

" Self-taught."

She nodded. "What about your parents?"

"Tasha, we're really talking about this?"

She leaned her elbow on the back of the couch and rested her chin in her cupped hand. "Well, there shouldn't be any secrets between partners, right? If we're going to be working this closely, then I need to know more about you."

"My parents are dead. Killed in a car crash when I was real young. My brother's gone too."

She lowered her gaze and touched his knee. "I'm sorry…"

He shrugged. "That was a long time ago. What about you? Where do your skills come from?"

She gave a short chuckle. "You know all about my past, don't you?"

He placed a hand under her chin and lifted her head up to face him. "I've heard some stories. But I don't believe everything I hear. We trust each other, right?"

She nodded. "It's a good thing we've got all night…."

Clint smiled. "We'd better make some more popcorn."


	4. Jealousy

**Jealousy**

Black Widow's POV

"That Clint Barton really is something else," Agent Hill gushed, tapping her pen against her pad.

Natasha looked up at her over her computer screen, irritated. "Humph," she muttered.

"What's he like in live action? I've only seen him work onscreen."

She rolled her eyes. "Just as amazing as on tv," she quipped dryly.

Maria Hill smirked. "Like you're not impressed by the way he shoots that bow and arrow? He made those weapons himself, didn't he?"

"Don't you have some paperwork to get finished for Fury?" She unconsciously balled her hands into fists under the desk.

"I've seen the way you at look at him. Look, if you want to stake a claim…"

Natasha decided to pretend she didn't hear her. That would be much better for her career than the alternative…

Hill kept going. "It's the way he looks at you, too… man, I wish someone with muscles like that would look at me that lustfully."

She slammed her fists into her lap and abruptly rose from her seat. "Look, Maria. I'm really not good at this whole girl talk thing, okay? Exuse me, I have work to do."

Hawkeye's POV

He sat in front of the monitor with narrowed eyes as he watched her caress that creep's face. Man, she was laying it on thick.

Agent Coulsson looked over from his seat next to him. "Are you okay?"

"Hmmm?" Clint asked without looking at him. "Oh, yeah. I'm fine. How are you holding up? I know it's late…"

Phil Coulsson smiled knowingly. "She's great at what she does. You get used to it after awhile. "

The guy on the screen puckered his lips jeeringly and Clint broke a pencil.

"At least most of us do," Coulsson muttered under his breath. Out loud he said, "You know, we can just switch screens with Agent Hill if you want. I won't tell Fury."

Clint shook his head. "I'm good at my job too."

"I wasn't suggesting.." Coulsson trailed off. "I need you to be in top shape in case we have to send you down there. Hill's keeping an eye on the Captain Rogers situation. No persuasion involved there. Not yet, anyway."

Clint turned his head marginally to regard the agent, keeping one eye on the screen. "I promised her I'd look after her."

Coulsson nodded. "Okay then. Just be ready to go in the event that we need to send you as backup."

"Trust me, I've been ready."


	5. Shopping

**Shopping**

Natasha pounded her fist on Clint's door loudly.

"Clint! We have a new mission!" she announced when he opened the door.

He rubbed his eyes tiredly. "What is it?"

Her eyes sparkled. "Shopping in Times Square!"

"Shopping, huh? Hold on. I haven't gotten enough rest for this assignment."

XXXXXX

She held his hand and there was a bounce in her step as they paraded through the pedestrian area of Times Square. He was amused and trying to decide whether she was really this thrilled to be posing as a carefree tourist, or if she was just once again really good at playing the part.

"Slow down, sweetheart," he tugged gently at their conjoined hands.

She smirked. "I take it you've never done this before?"

He laughed. "Can't say I have. Although I never pegged you for the shopping type either."

She rolled her eyes. "Would you rather be bloody and fighting in a field somewhere? Or up north in the freezing rain, perhaps?"

"Good point. Alright, sweetheart. You lead the way." He gestured with his hand held out. "If you're a real good girl, I'll buy you a prize."

She grinned. "What's with this 'sweetheart' business?"

"Well, I'm your boyfriend today, aren't I?"

Their hands dropped as they stopped walking and she turned to assess him. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess you are."

He leaned in closer to her and said in a low whisper. "We've been spotted." He raised his eyes only slightly and tilted his head backward. "Third floor, eighth window in. Behind me."

Shit, no wonder they called him The Hawk. Her eyes widened. "Fury doesn't want Rogers' nurse to see us until after he wakes up," she hissed back.

He nodded, his expression grave. "It's alright. I've got it covered."

She searched his face, in a rare moment, unable to read his unspoken thoughts. "Clint, what-" Her words got caught off as he threw his body against her, pinning her to the brick wall behind her, his arms on either side to prevent her escape.

His mouth pressed against hers and in a second his hands were cupping her face. She closed her eyes and tangled her fingers in his hair, pressing his face closer against hers as they kissed thoroughly. She felt the ghost of a moan escape his lips as he leaned further into her.

She had just enough time to register the feel of his breath on her face when just as suddenly as it had started, it was over. He pulled away first, and she opened her eyes, taking a chance on raising them upward so as not to look at his face. "The shades are drawn," she confirmed.

He nodded and took a half step back. He reached for her again, but she shrugged slightly away.

"Are you okay?" He asked with a small frown.

She turned her gaze on him and stared straight into his eyes. "Of course," she said, a little coldly. "Why wouldn't I be?"

His mouth set into a line. "Right." He backed off to let her away from the wall and the two continued down the brightly lit street in silence.


	6. Feverish

**Feverish**

"How's your head?" She asked softly.

He shrugged. "They're sending me back to my own room so it can't be that bad."

She bent down to pick up his personal belongings which were sitting on the floor of the infirmary. "Do you want me to walk with you?"

"That would be nice."

She put an arm around his shoulders. "Okay. Come on."

He hopped down from the medic table and took his stuff from her. He nodded a thank you to the nurse on duty and turned to exit.

Once they were out in the hall, Natasha reached up to place a hand on his shoulder. "Clint."

He looked down at her warily. "Not now, Natasha."

"That blow was meant for me."

"We're partners. It's what we do. It's not like you've never taken a hit for me before."

She stopped when they reached his room and pushed open the door. He tried to hide his wince from her, but deep down he knew that nothing would get past her. She took his arm and let him lean on her as she led him to his bed. "You don't have to hide anything from me. I know it hurts."

He sat down heavily with a loud thump.

"Easy now," she soothed. "They couldn't give you any more painkillers?"

He shook his head slowly. "I've already had two max doses today." He sat with his back against the wall and motioned for her to join him. "Tell me the truth. None of this sugar-coated it's not that bad crap. How does it look?"

She knelt in front of him and raised her hands to his face. "May I?" she asked.

He nodded wordlessly and gave a soft sigh when he felt her fingers part his hair. He closed his eyes as she felt around his head for the bump and braced himself, but her gentle touch didn't hurt the affected area as much as he thought it would. Actually, it felt sort of… nice.

"It's swollen, but not terribly. Probably hurts worse than it looks," she assured him. "At least they didn't have to shave your head this time to fix you up," she joked.

He laughed weakly.

"Are you hungry? I could go get you something."

"No… are you?" He asked.

She brushed off the question with a little wave. "I ate before I came to see you." She frowned at the little beads of sweat that were starting to form on his brow. "I think you may have a fever."

She placed her hand on his cheek and felt his forehead, his neck…. He closed his eyes once more.

"Only a slight one. What can I do to make you more comfortable?"

He smiled at her concern. "I'm fine, really. Just exhausted is all."

She rose from her crouch on the floor in front of him. "Well, get some sleep then. I 'll check on you in the morning, okay?"

He took her hand and pulled it towards his chest. "Tasha, wait."

She turned around to face him. "What is it?" she asked gently.

"Stay."

She moved closer and crouched back down to look at him. "I suppose I could hang out here for a few more minutes."

He shook his head. "Stay the night." His eyes were pleading.

She swallowed hard, hoping he couldn't hear the sudden pounding of her heart. "Let me just grab a blanket from my room."

"No." He spoke firmly despite the fact that he was now struggling to keep his eyes open. He patted the space next to him. "Stay right here."

She debated internally for a moment. "Um.. okay." She nodded and shifted her position so she could sit on the bed next to him. "But you have to get some rest. Sleep now."

"You won't go?"

"I won't go," she promised, brushing her fingers across his forehead.

She settled back into his pillows and he rolled over to lean against her. She pursed her lips tightly.

His breathing started to grow heavier and he mumbled almost incoherently. "I wish…."

She pulled the blanket around his shoulders. "What do you wish?" she whispered.

"I wish… that I was awake enough to… enjoy this properly."

She allowed herself an amused smile, knowing it was the fever talking now. "Like you'd ever take advantage of me, Agent Barton. Even if I allowed you to."

He chuckled softly. "At least it's good to know…" He yawned.

She unconsciously tightened her hold on him, bringing his body closer to hers , and she struggled to hear him as her heartbeat raced noisily in her ears. "What's good to know, Clint?"

His eyelids were heavy, but there was no mistaking the realization in his eyes. "It's good to know that I have the same effect on you as you have on me," he said clearly, though his voice was barely a whisper.

"Ssshhh," she said, placing a finger on his lips. "Sleep now. You really need your rest."

He closed his eyes and it was only a few more moments before his breathing evened out and she knew he was asleep. She placed a gentle kiss on the top of his head and stared at the ceiling until sleep came for her too.

XXXXXX

When he awoke the next morning, Natasha was sitting at the edge of his bed watching him.

"And I'm the one they call The Hawk," he murmured. "Jesus, Natasha. I could feel your stare even when I was out cold."

She treated him with a genuinely warm smile. "How are you feeling?"

He sat up slowly. "Much better. Fever's broken."

She reached out and placed a tentative hand on his neck. "So it is," she observed. She rose from the bed.

"Look, Tasha. About last night…" he started.

"I'm leaving today," she said quietly.

His brow furrowed as he stood up with her.

"Fury called me early this morning with a mission," she added.

"Ah," he nodded. "And why am I not included on this?"

She raised her eyes to meet his gaze. "I'm assigned to Tony Stark."

His eyes widened. "Shit. For how long?"

She shrugged. "As long as it takes, I guess. Fury wants you on bed rest for a few days. I told him I wanted frequent updates on your progress."

"Alright," he murmured, still trying to wrap his injured head around all this. "Email me when you get there. We'll stay in touch."

She shook her head. "Stark's servers will be monitored. I don't know how much we'll able to communicate."

He tried not to show his disappointment, but was obviously unsuccessful.

She placed a hand under his chin. "I'll call you from my cellular in two weeks," she promised.

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"This is why you shouldn't have said anything," she warned.

"When do you have to leave?"

"Right now, actually."

"Oh," he said because he didn't know what else to say.

Without warning, she flung herself into his arms and embraced him fiercely.

He eagerly returned her hug, the first one she'd ever given him in their years as partners, with just as much passion.

"Goodbye, Agent Barton," she said calmly, even though her eyes betrayed her.

"Take care, Agent Romanoff," he answered.

She smiled wryly. "I always do."


	7. Funeral

WARNING: This fic contains spoilers of a very significant part from the Marvel's The Avengers movie… read at your own risk.

**Funeral**

It was the very least they could do for a fallen comrade. They stood gathered around the final gravesite, where a small memorial had been set up with pictures and flowers to honor the one who believed in them the most.

She looked around at her teammates—the look of pure agony on Tony's face, Bruce with his hand over his mouth, Thor's head bowed in quiet mourning, Steve's tear-stained cheeks, Clint staring silently through dark tinted sunglasses.

Nick Fury nodded once to Captain Rogers and he moved forward as if in slow motion. She shrank back a little when he placed several small cards—trading cards that he'd signed for his friend a moment too late—inside the casket.

Clint reached over and took her hand in his. Tony and Bruce reached out to pat Steve on the back when he returned to them.

She squeezed his hand tightly when Fury rose to make a eulogy. He spoke of true heroism, faith, and courage and offered some fond memories to share with the group.

She started to tremble midway through the speech, and Clint wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her protectively to him.

After the speech, the team murmured hushed condolences to each other.

Bruce reached down to briefly embrace her and she kissed his cheek. When he turned his back, Clint ducked down to whisper in her ear. "Do you want to get out of here?"

She nodded wordlessly and let him lead her away.

XXXXX

She barely had the sense to register that they were back in her room before the tears started to fall. Clint waited silently in the doorway, pulling the door quietly shut. "I figured you wanted to get away and all.." He removed his sunglasses and set them on a small end table.

She nodded and wiped the tears out of her eyes. "Thanks," she whispered.

"Do you want me to go?"

She shook her head furiously. "Please don't."

"Alright."

"Ph-Phil was…." She started.

"I know," he whispered.

That's when the sobbing started and in one smooth motion he jumped across the room and knelt down on the floor beside her. He'd been prepared for this. He knew she'd never let the others see her cry, he himself only seeing real tears once before.

She grabbed him tightly and he picked her up from the floor, pulling her close into his arms. She clutched at the shirt on his back, burying her face in his chest, her body wracked with sobs.

He stroked her hair soothingly. "I know, I know," he said softly.

He closed his eyes against his own anguish, bowed his head as he held her tight, all the while she was shaking. "Just let it out, sweetheart. Let it all out."

They stood there in the center of the room, mourning silently together.

It wasn't until she stopped shaking and wiped her face with the back of her hand that he lifted his head up.

"Clint?"

"Yes, Tasha?"

"Do something for me?"

"Anything," he promised, not caring that he'd learned the hard way more than once not to promise her anything until she'd said what it is first.

"Stay here tonight?" Her eyes were wide and vulnerable as she looked back up at him.

It had been so long since the two had shared a bed and last time….

He swallowed the lump that he didn't realize had formed in his throat. "Of course," he said softly. "So long as you don't leave me in the morning."

She gave him a weak smile. "I won't leave you," she promised.

He lowered his arms to make a move for the bed, but she held on tight. "Don't let go," she whispered.

He shook his head. "Alright. I won't let go."

They held each other quietly for a few minutes more.


	8. Sentiment

Note: I wasn't going to expand on the last chapter, but Haven14 suggested a morning after and this popped into my head, so….

**Sentiment **

"You stayed," he observed when he groggily opened his eyes to find her once again watching him.

"I did. We're all off today, remember?"

"Right. Well, I hope you're not going to kick me out, cause I don't plan on getting out of bed anytime soon," He said with a grin.

She laughed. "That's fine."

He yawned and propped himself up onto an elbow. "How are you doing?"

She considered his question for a moment before answering, "I'm okay."

His eyes searched hers and she playfully pulled the covers away from him to lighten the mood, only then realizing that he'd removed his shirt for bed. "Hey…. " She lightly touched the scar on his chest where Loki's staff had made contact. "I didn't know you had this."

"Oh yeah… another one to add to the collection," he muttered.

She regarded him thoughtfully. "Sentiment… you must have felt something pretty hard for him to register that. What mission were you assigned to?"

He shook his head. "I wasn't. It was you."

"Me?" She grinned. "What did I do?"

He frowned. "They said you'd gotten yourself captured. I should have known better than to believe it, but I wasn't sure…."

The smile froze on her face and she looked away. "We shouldn't be dwelling on this. It's over, and you're back, and…"

He placed a hand under her chin and turned her face back to him. "What about you? You said you were compromised. Not like you. What's that all about?"

She bit her lip and shook her head.

"What? Tasha, what is it?"

"I tried to get you back."

"Yeah, I know that part. Before I killed anyone else. That doesn't explain how you made yourself vulnerable to him."

Her voice was barely above a whisper . "I couldn't… I wasn't thinking clearly. You were gone and I just… I needed you back."

He reached out to touch her hand. "Oh." His eyes searched her face for any telltale sign that she was admitting to him what he'd always wanted and though he knew that she'd never say it, he thought that on some level he'd always known.

In that moment, he couldn't stop himself from reaching for her, from drawing her face closer to his, closing his eyes as he felt her breath touch his skin…

"No," she uttered, her voice soft but firm.

He opened his eyes. "Why not? Tasha, I…"

"Stop." She clapped a steady hand over his mouth. "Don't say it. Don't say anything. We can't do this right now, Clint."

He nodded.

She jolted upright. "We should….go… "

He grabbed her wrist. "Not until you promise me that we'll be okay."

She smiled wryly. "We're always okay, Agent Barton. Since when do I need to promise you anything?"


	9. Party

Warning: This part also contains a slight spoiler for The Avengers movie. Read at your own risk.

**Party**

They hadn't spoken in the weeks since Coulson's memorial service. Now here they were, face to face, at a victory party thrown by Stark in his tower. They didn't arrive together, but they were together now, in the midst of all the suits and ties, the bright lights, the loud music and the alcohol.

Maybe it was because he'd already had a few drinks, but tonight he was feeling braver around her than he had in awhile.

She was in the back of the ballroom, laughing and chatting with Pepper, wearing a short little red dress that clung to her body in all the most sinful places. Tony appeared from the crowd and yanked Pepper away to the dance floor and he made his way over to her, shaking hands with Bruce, Steve, and several more people he didn't recognize as he approached.

"Clint…. You made it," she said with a warm smile.

"Here I am."

She laughed. "I forgot this is your first experience at a Stark event. It must be overwhelming."

He cocked his head to one side. "It's not the venue that's overwhelming," he remarked. "What are you drinking tonight? I'll go get it for you."

She shrugged her bare shoulders. "Just get whatever you'd like and make it two."

He nodded and left her side only long enough to return with the drinks.

"Why, thank you, Agent Barton."

"To victory," he toasted, and they clinked glasses before they each downed their beverages.

"Would you care to dance?" He offered her his arm.

She raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know you could."

He winked. "We'll see," he said. "If Tony's managing, then it can't be that hard."

"True," she agreed, slipping her arm into his and letting him whisk her away.

The music was loud, and fast, and he wondered for a moment why on Earth he'd wanted to let go in this way as they awkwardly moved about, but she was laughing and he found himself joining in as they twirled around and around. It wasn't long before Bruce and Tony found them and they even managed to get Steve to join and for quite possibly the first time since the Shawarma, they were having a moment together.

Then the music slowed and everybody paired off and suddenly they were just standing there. "Shall we sit?" He asked.

"What for?" She stepped right in his personal space, placing a hand gently on his shoulder and locking the fingers of her other hand in his. "The night's still young, right?"

He smiled as he placed one hand on her waist and pulled their conjoined hands against his chest.

"You clean up well, Agent Barton," she remarked, looking him up and down with a devilish smile on her face.

"And you, Agent Romanoff, are simply stunning in that dress," he returned. "The color red definitely suits you."

She swatted his shoulder playfully. "Oh, stop. You'll make me blush."

"No I won't," he said.

She laughed. "No… you won't," she agreed.

He laughed too, until she wrapped both her arms around his neck and leaned her head against his chest.

He swallowed hard, his arms encircling her waist and holding her close. "This is… nice," he breathed as he took in the intoxicating scent of her hair.

"Yes, it is," she acknowledged, but he didn't pick up on her guarded tone.

"Natasha…."

"Don't." She moved her head to look up at him. "We said we weren't going to do this, right?"

He sighed. "Right."

"So… what would you do if we were like the others and we didn't have to go to back to the base tomorrow?" She asked, partly to change the subject and partly because she was genuinely curious.

He pulled her back into his arms and she settled back against his chest and they twirled slowly for a moment before he answered. "I'd probably… go back to S.H.E.I.L.D. anyway," he admitted.

She narrowed her eyes curiously. "Why's that?"

He rested his cheek against her forehead. "It's all I have left," he answered. "The only thing real that I know."

She nodded. "I suppose I would do the same," she agreed.


End file.
